The Reunion
by Major Raikov
Summary: A village is decimated by an unknown attacker. The Shumerian government sends Clint Picard to investigate...
1. The Return of Ash

The Return of Ash Upon Killiopi Plateau he stood, watching through the sheets of rain the village he once lived in. He watched the different lights in the different windows as the villagers went about their business before resting for the night. Their innocence pained him. His purpose on this planet was death. And that was exactly what he was going to give them.  
  
As if possessed by a demon, the warrior drew his sword and darted towards the houses in the village. Nobody was safe from his mindless onslaught. Men, women, children; all who stood in front of him lost their lives as he administered the doom that all humans would one day receive. And today was their day.  
  
Cutting through the villagers, he entered a small shack and continued his slaughter. The woman he killed with ease as she begged for her child to be spared. He took no notice of her and entered the child's room.  
  
As he opened the door, the child burst out of the room and ran towards its mother. The warrior, reeling from the slight shock, turned to face the child. Blood dripping from his sword, he began to walk towards the now crying child. He lifted his sword to strike, but he hesitated. He looked at the child and saw a young blonde girl, with brown eyes, dressed in a shabby red robe. She kneeled down, cradling her mother's lifeless body.  
  
She turned her head away from her mother, and looked into the eyes of her mother's murderer. He looked back, both of them holding their own sorrow to themselves. She for her mother, he for what he was about to perform.  
  
The warrior was overwhelmed with guilt. He continued staring into the girl's tearful eyes. He lowered his sword and dropped to his knees, placing his hand on his face. In his mind, he was taken back many years; where he led a group of freedom fighters destroy a great evil.  
  
A fascist named Dolf had overthrown another fascist so he could exact his revenge on a world, which had taken his father away from him. This man was planning to use the ultimate destructive power, known as the "Flames of Judgement", to purge the world of life. But the warrior and his companions succeeded in defeating him, at the expense of the leaders life.  
  
But that very leader, who gave his own life to destroy evil that day, was now on his knees, crying in one of the small shacks in the small village where he was born. He had committed a great act of evil here, and he could not reverse it.  
  
He stood up onto his feet, wiping the tears of off his face. He looked at the girl again, and made a decision.  
  
* * *  
  
Capital Shumeria, two days later. Clint had finally finished arranging the new weapons. He didn't like Darius' new idea, but he decided to at least test them out with his commando unit. Clint had become the head of the Security Forces responsible for keeping the peace in and around Shumeria for nearly two years. He was elected into this position after his participation in the destruction of the evil empire who were controlling Ishtaria two years before.  
  
The world was now at peace, despite the ongoing activities of thieves and pirates. But things hadn't been this peaceful for generations. People were finally happy. The politicians of Ishtaria were still upsetting some people, but nothing to serious had happened.  
  
Darius had developed a new weapon, which had a long wooden shaft, and a handle at the end. Near the handle was a trigger. This trigger ignited explosive powder to propel small pieces of metal through the shaft into the body of a person. This metal would proceed to cause internal bleeding. Darius was very proud of this weapon, and named it the "Darius Hand- cannon". Clint was disapproving of this name, but Darius constantly reminded him that it was his invention to call what he wanted.  
  
Clint had allowed Darius to manufacture this weapon for the security forces, but was worried that they would not work. The soldiers, on the other hand, were only to willing to try them out, except for the archers, who believed that this new weapon would be the death of their "art".  
  
Clint didn't care, as long as they helped keep the peace. He was in constant worry that another war would break out, and more innocent lives would be lost. The cold eyes of corruption were once again viewing the council, with different factions amassing in different sections, all of who had different intentions.  
  
Fortunately, new laws were introduced, ensuring that all parties involved in the elections and various other voters, were equal in power. This meant that military actions could only be passed if all parties in the council were in agreement.  
  
But word told of one group who were growing in numbers in the wild-lands of the world. A group who were determined to overthrow the council and take the power for themselves. But this group existed only in rumour. Nobody could confirm their existence, so the council did not let these claims worry them.  
  
Clint was just sitting down for the first time that day when he noticed it. On his desk, next to the various maps and documents, lay an envelope. He picked it up and swivelled it round in his fingers, looking for whom it was addressed to. On the front of the envelope were scribbled the words "Clint - Read this now!"  
  
Startled by the words, he ripped open the letter with careful precision not to damage the letter. When he looked at the letter a look of shock emerged on his face.  
  
  
  
  
  
It read.  
  
"Dear Clint, I hope this finds you well. I apologise for not writing recently, but this passage does not bear good tidings. On my travels through the wild, I came upon Kiliopi Village. Clint, somebody nearly wiped them out. About three quarters of their population have been put to rest by an unknown attacker, and, surprisingly, nothing was stolen from the village at all. Clint, these people need protecting. I will await you here. I love you. Kira"  
  
Clint placed the letter back on his desk and though for a moment. Who would attack a peaceful village like Kiliopi? He thought with great depth. There were no terrorist factions in that area, and the village isn't even in the jurisdiction of the Ishtarian council, so the attack wouldn't affect them. There was no possible motivation behind the attack.  
  
After a minute or two, Clint couldn't think by himself any more, so he picked up the letter and made for the council headquarters.  
  
It was near midday when he arrived at the headquarters. The council were still in deep debate before breaking to have their lunch. And grand Chancellor Dolan, once a fighter of the highest order, now a powerful statesman, was speaking his views on trade routes and prices when Clint burst through the doors of the debate room, letter in his hand. The council was in an uproar at his sudden appearance in the room.  
  
"Clint!" shouted Dolan ", what is the meaning of this? You cannot just run into this room!"  
  
"Chancellor Dolan, sir," replied Clint, as full of breath he could possibly achieve ", I come with news of an act of terror, outside of the councils jurisdiction!" The council began to talk amongst themselves, wondering were and what has happened.  
  
"Order, Order!" shouted Dolan, while banging his hammer on his stand. A silence came over the council. He looked at Clint "Speak then!"  
  
"Thank you sir," replied Clint ", ladies and gentleman of the council. I hold in my hand a letter from Kira, grand archer of the group who defeated Dolf the Destroyer two years ago. She informs me in this letter that nearly all of the citizens of Kiliopi Village have been killed by an unknown group!"  
  
At this, the council began shouting various things at each other. The council hadn't faced anything like this in the two years that it had been in power. The politicians were mostly young generals who had survived the Crimson age and were not drafted into the Crimson army. They had only been involved in small skirmishes before, and with the lack of turmoil in the world, they were unprepared for such news.  
  
"Order! ORDER!!" shouted Dolan once more, banging his hammer harder than before. "This is obviously a matter that we should have been prepared for. Clint, when can you mobilise a unit?"  
  
"As soon as you say the word, sir!" replied Clint with a boom of confidence.  
  
"Then gather a dozen of your best troops and travel to Kiliopi. I want you to bring some order to their village. We must ensure that the survivors are all kept that way, and that this does not happen again."  
  
"Sir, yes sir!" said Clint, saluting in the appropriate manner.  
  
"Also, I want you to investigate the area, and find out who was behind this," said Dolan, "if the rumours are true about a liberation army gathering in the outer-lands, then we cannot risk a full-blown war. I want this taken care of quickly and quietly."  
  
"Sir," said Clint, saluting again. At this, Clint turned and left the room with great speed. He dashed out of the building and ran back towards the Security Forces HQ.  
  
* * *  
  
"CLINT!" Shouted Kira, as the Security Forces moved into Kiliopi village the next day. She ran straight towards them, and threw her arms around the man she loved.  
  
"Kira," said Clint, holding he in his arms, "its been so long. How are the people?"  
  
"Oh Clint, its disgusting," she said with deep sadness, "a single soldier attacked the village three nights ago. He killed nearly everyone, and took a survivor with him."  
  
"How do they know he took somebody?" Asked Clint, trying not to let the nearby villagers hear him.  
  
"Because her body was not among the dead," said a nearby villager, dressed in a priest's uniform, with long white hair, and a long grey beard. "Little Lucca was taken away by that madman after he killed her mother. After that, he left the village, killing nobody else. She had nobody else here, and her father is still away at Glasgow City."  
  
Clint tried to put it the pieces together in his mind. A single soldier attacks a powerless village, kidnapping a child, leaving the rest of the village behind, he thought. None of it made any sense to him.  
  
"Did anybody get a good look at him?" asked Clint to the priest.  
  
"Only one man saw him clearly. It was raining that night you see. It was difficult to see him, and this person saw him walking away as he entered the village. Strangely, he didn't see anybody with him I only pray that the souls of those killed are somewhere better now. Nobody in this village ever did anybody any harm." At this the priest broke down into tears. "Please, I'm sorry, I just want."  
  
"Hey!" Interrupted Clint, "its okay to be upset. This is a very traumatic experience, and we will get to the bottom of this!"  
  
"Thank you, sir," said the priest, wiping away his tears.  
  
"Who was it who saw the attacker?" asked Clint, cautiously.  
  
"I'll take you to him," said Kira, "I've been here for a few days now, and I know my way about. You go and get some rest, father. You've been awake too long."  
  
"I will," said the priest, "but promise me this, sir. You will catch him, won't you?"  
  
In his mind, Clint despaired. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn't think of any suspects, and was afraid that his troops may not be enough to stop whatever forces were at work. But, the people of the village had been through enough, so Clint said, "we will. I promise."  
  
Then the priest smiled at Clint and hobbled back towards his church.  
  
" Okay, listen up!" barked Clint to his men, " I want this village cleaned up, and I want at least four of you guarding the village perimeter. Understood?"  
  
"SIR! YES SIR!" Shouted the troops in unison, while saluting.  
  
"Then go to work!" Then the troops dispersed and began to do their assigned jobs. "Right, Kira, were is this guy?"  
  
"Follow me." Kira led Clint to a small hovel near the centre of the village. It was brown and the door was no higher than six foot. The windows were boarded up so nobody could see in or out of the window. Clint tapped on the door with his fist, and said:  
  
"Is their anybody in there?" After about twenty seconds, locks could be heard moving on the inside of the door. It creaked open, and a youthful looking, travel worn man peered out of the open door.  
  
"What business brings you here?" said the man in a clear, but gruff voice.  
  
"I am Clint Picard," answered Clint, " I am the high commander of the Security Forces of Shumeria. I have been ordered by our council to investigate what happened here, and I am informed that you are the only person to have seen the attacker clearly." The man looked at him blankly. "May we come in and discuss the matter?"  
  
A troubled look appeared on the face of the witness. He looked Clint in the eye and said, "okay." At this, he swung open the door, hurried the two of them in and swiftly closed the door behind them.  
  
The inside of the house was no different from the outside: dark, shabby and small. A tiny bed stood nest to a desk. The room was lit by a small oil lamp on the desk, nest to a pile of various documents, an old, rusted jug, a cup full of wine and a plate covered in some old chicken bones. On the wall hung a cloak, a suit of chain armour, a shield and a Shumerian long- sword.  
  
"Do you have a name?" asked Clint.  
  
"Joseph," said the man, sitting on his bed, resting his elbows on the desk, "what do you want to know?"  
  
"Just a description, Joseph," said Kira, in a soothing voice, " we don't want you to feel under pressure."  
  
Joseph looked at the floor, and sighed heavily. He placed his fingers over his eyes and rubbed them tiredly. He obviously wasn't in the mood for this. "I really didn't see his face, I just saw his clothes," he said, growing melancholic, "and little Lucca."  
  
Clint looked at him, growing frustrated. Clint was a pacifist at heart, and had only joined the DSF to keep the peace, not to create bloodshed. Situations such as this disturbed him greatly.  
  
"I know this is difficult," replied Clint, covering his inner turmoil, "but we need all the information that can be provided to us." Joseph looked up and nodded. "What exactly was he wearing?"  
  
"He was wearing armour, but not cheap stuff," started Joseph, deep in memory, "it looked really durable. Probably Shumerian, I couldn't really tell."  
  
Clint looked at Kira at the mention of Shumeria. The idea of one of his own troops performing acts of terror angered him greatly. Kira saw the anger in his eyes and turned back to Joseph.  
  
"Could you discern any emblems or crests from his armour, a sort of symbol?" she asked him.  
  
Joseph looked at her nervously. "I couldn't see anything on his armour," he started before gulping, "but I found something strange on the ground were he had left."  
  
A glimmer of hope appeared in both Clint and Kira's eyes. Joseph slowly opened the drawer on his desk and pulled out something wrapped in rags. He closed the drawer and placed the item on his desk and began to unwrap it, while Clint and Kira looked on, wondering what to expect at the bottom of the rags. Eventually the rags ended, and a small, circular tablet lay on the desk.  
  
"I thought maybe it was an amulet," said Joseph, rising to his feet as Clint and Kira neared the desk. "Any idea what that means?" Joseph was pointing at the design on the tablet.  
  
Clint couldn't believe his eyes. On the tablet, there was a design engraved. A sword, driven through the skeleton of a dragon. He looked up and met Kira's eyes.  
  
"Clint."she started.  
  
"What?" said Joseph, noticing the sudden change in their faces, "is there something wrong?"  
  
Clint looked back down at the tablet and uttered two words, "Vandal Heart."  
  
At this, the ground around them started to shake.  
  
"What's going on?" shouted Joseph at Clint, "what have you done?"  
  
Clint, grabbing Kira, "I don't know, just get out of here!"  
  
As they all darted for the front door, the rumbling stopped. They all turned and looked back at the desk. The tablet was shining on the desk, almost like gold. Blinded by greed, Joseph jumped towards his desk.  
  
"Its mine, I found it!" he said, moving his hand towards the tablet.  
  
"Joseph, wait!" shouted Clint, but he was too late.  
  
Joseph grabbed the tablet and held it in the air, " I'm rich, I'm.arghhhhh!" All of a sudden, black tentacles emerged from the tablet and started wrapping themselves around Joseph's body, causing him to scream in pain.  
  
"JOSEPH!" shouted Kira, as Clint busted open the front door.  
  
"Help! Help us!" shouted Clint into the village. He looked back at Joseph, who was now kneeling on the floor. But the screaming had changed. Joseph had started to laugh. He was laughing frantically, intimidating both Kira and Clint.  
  
Kira walked towards him slightly. "Joseph."  
  
Suddenly, Joseph jumped to his feet and began to destroy the room around him. The table, the bed, all of it was destroyed as he smashed everything around him with his fists.  
  
Villagers had started to walk towards the house, wondering what was going on. Clint grabbed Kira and pulled her out of the house, slamming the door behind them.  
  
Still running, they turned and looked back. The house was now shaking, the door rattling on its hinges. Then, in a flurry of banging and immense noise, the house exploded into flames, creating a shockwave across the village, knocking all who were standing onto the ground. Then, out of the wreckage emerged a figure.  
  
Clint's soldiers rushed towards the scene of the explosion, weapons in hand. They all crouched and quickly loaded their weapons and took aim at the figure.  
  
"Hold your fire!" shouted Clint at his troops, hoping that Joseph just might be okay. But his hope was in vain. The smoke subsided, revealing a monstrous being.  
  
Dressed completely in rigid, black armour, red cloak flowing in the wind stood a dark knight. On the breastplate of the armour, the Emblem of the Vandals shone in the sunlight, encrusted with gold. In one hand he held a huge mace, in the other, a shield with the mark of the Vandals on it. Then he spoke.  
  
"Anyone who stands before me shall perish. Who shall challenge me first?" He shouted in a booming, menacing voice. At this, the villagers ran for cover, leaving Kira, Clint and his soldiers to face this new menace.  
  
Then Clint stood forward.  
  
"I am Clint Picard, high commander of the Ishtarian Security Forces," said Clint, confidence in his voice ", what is your purpose? If you are here to mindlessly destroy, then, my troops and I will surely defeat you."  
  
Then the knight laughed. Lifting his mace above his head, he began to walk towards the soldiers.  
  
"You do not know what you face!" boomed the knight, still trudging towards the troops. "For two thousand years I have rested, and now, the relics have been awoken, as prophesised by Lord Toroah."  
  
The teachings of Toroah had been forgotten in Ishtaria since the start of the first revolution. Only a few carried on the teachings, but these were dismissed as superstitious fools and were castigated from Ishtaria.  
  
The knight carried on walking. The soldiers began to walk slowly backwards.  
  
"Halt!" shouted Clint, " or we will be forced to open fire on you."  
  
The knight laughed again, this time with a more angered tone. "You fools! Do you not realise that your man made weapons cannot defeat the great Titans of the Vandals. We were created to cleanse this world, and that is exactly what we will do!"  
  
"We?" thought Clint, aloud.  
  
"Yes," said the knight, nodding, "there are more like me! I am but one of seven!"  
  
"Clint." said Kira, bow armed and pointed.  
  
Clint looked around. The soldiers were ready. He had to do something. The knight was getting closer. Then, without thinking of the consequences, he shouted:  
  
"OPEN FIRE!"  
  
Almost simultaneously the troops pulled the triggers on their hand-cannons, and Kira released an arrow from her bow. But the knight was unaffected. The bullets just deflected of his armour, while the arrow bounced of his shield.  
  
Then the knight ran at them, mace at the ready. Then, with great tenacity, he swung his mace, knocking three of Clint's soldiers flying into the air. Kira jumped back, and reloaded her bow and Clint jumped to one side, sword now in hand.  
  
The knight turned to Kira as she fired an arrow directly into the gap in his helmet. It plunged straight into his face. He reeled back in pain, and, dropping his shield, blindly shouldered Kira onto the ground, injuring her in the process.  
  
"KIRA!" shouted Clint, as he jumped onto the back of the dark warrior. He clutched his hand around his neck, trying to hold onto him.  
  
At this, the knight, who was now trying wrench the arrow out of his face, began to swing Clint around, violently.  
  
Then, with all his might, Clint plunged his sword deep into the neck of the titan. The knight screamed in pain, and swung Clint around, who was still holding onto his sword.  
  
Clint flew of the knight, and took his sword with him, which was drenched in black blood. He landed against a solid rock wall, which was nearby. He was almost comatose from the impact.  
  
The knight, who was now clutching his neck, managed to free the arrow from the helmet. Then, with a scream of pain, he turned towards Clint. Kira was still struggling on the floor with her injuries, and Clint's soldiers had either retreated or were unconscious.  
  
Target in sight, the knight walked towards Clint. Still reeling from the throw, Clint held up his sword in desperation, hoping he would survive the encounter. Then, with one swipe of his mace, the unnamed titan destroyed Clint's sword.  
  
"NOW, INFIDEL!" shouted the knight, preparing to administer the fatal attack, "DIE!"  
  
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning pushed the Titan away from Clint. Clint, still hazy, from the attack, looked around, and saw a dark blur. The blur was using all kinds of magic on the armoured foe. Fire, water, lightning, earth, all of the elements were being hurled at the titan, who was now helpless.  
  
Clint began to black out, but before all of his vision was encapsulated in darkness, Clint heard two voices. The first belonged to the knight.  
  
"You may have defeated me now, sorcerer, but I shall return, and with greater numbers. The end of the world has begun!"  
  
Then the other voice spoke. It was a voice Clint hadn't heard for two years.  
  
"I'm counting on it!"  
  
Then, just as Clint fell into the darkness, he uttered a name.  
  
"Zohar." 


	2. The Search for the Slayer Begins

Chapter 2 - The Sage and the Key  
  
Clint awoke and examined his surroundings quickly. He was lying in a small yet comfortable bed in a compact room. The window on the far wall was open, allowing the warm rays of the sun fill the room. "How long have I been out?" he thought to himself. The previous day was still uncertain in his mind. What had he witnessed in the village? Who were the Titans of the Vandal Heart? Where are the rest of them? The questions circulated his mind over and over, but he could not reach a true judgement. He didn't even know who had attacked the village previously. Everything was in disarray.  
  
Looking at himself, Clint realised he was undressed and cleaned. His chest was bound in a large bandage. When he tried to move, the bones underneath the bandages ached. The pain would be unbearable for many, but Clint had no choice but to deal with it. His mission was just beginning and he greatly desired to seek consul with Kira and Zohar. He was going to need help. Professional help.  
  
Calling upon his might, he swung around and placed his feet on the ground. Rising to a standing stance, he stretched his limbs. Hanging on the wall were his clothes. His sword was gone. The sword that had brought him through the Crimson age. The sword that had slain many evildoers. Broken. Destroyed by a single enemy. But it was unimportant. Swords could be replaced. Pride could not.  
  
Quickly, he dressed and walked slowly towards the wooden door. He placed his hand on the gold doorknob and twisted it in his hand. Creaking loudly, he pushed open the door to reveal an alter before a huge crucifix. In front were rows of benches. Some villagers were sitting and praying. But only a few. There were only a few left who could pray. This village would never be the same again. But Clint vowed vengeance right there and then. He would not allow the deaths of innocents be in vain. He would stop this new evil, at whatever cost.  
  
It was as this thought flashed through his mind that he saw his friends again. Kira and Zohar walked towards him from a door on the opposite side of the room. Zohar was dressed in his usual black robe and was aided as always with his long, wooden staff. From beneath his robe, a sword was visible hanging from the belt on his undergarments. Clint was surprised. He had never known Zohar to carry such a weapon. Kira looked as beautiful as always, wearing her strange travel clothes. A brown dress of sorts, Clint had always admired her flamboyance and her ability to disregard the opinions of others. Some of the many reasons he loved he so much.  
  
Eventually they reached him, and Clint smiled.  
  
"Are you alright?" said Zohar from underneath his long, white hair.  
  
"Better than can be expected," said Clint, glad to see his old friend returned after a long time. "What happened to Joseph? Is he alright?"  
  
Kira shrugged.  
  
Zohar spoke assertively. "The titan is gone from here, as is the boy." "Wha." Clint was annoyed at his inability to protect the young traveller. "Were is the titan now?"  
  
"He simply disappeared. It looks like that he was the Titan of Armour. It would explain the potency of my magic in the battle."  
  
Clint looked into Zohar's face. He looked strange. Knowledgeable. "You know of these things, these titans?" asked Clint.  
  
"Come, Clint," said Kira, "Zohar will explain everything soon. Follow us."  
  
Clint nodded. Zohar and Kira turned and walked towards the door they had entered through with Clint closely following. His eyes wandered over the mourners. They would never see their loved ones again. This village was nearing its end. Soon, the people would move on. Refugees. Victims of war.  
  
War.  
  
They entered the room. Clint found himself in a square room. In the centre was a round table with chairs surrounding it. Zohar rested his staff on a wall and sat down at the table. Kira to sat down. Clint, following suit, did the same. He placed himself near Kira. He had a feeling that what he was about to hear would be disturbing.  
  
"So," started Clint, "what is going on?"  
  
Zohar looked at Clint. "As you know Clint, Grog and I have been travelling for two years now. Along that timeline, we have come across many different things. Treasures, creatures and, sometimes, great peril."  
  
"I have been following your diaries," said Clint.  
  
"It was good of the state to publish our journeys. Something that would have been impossible under the Spites regime. But about a month ago, Grog and I took our separate ways."  
  
"I heard about that," said Clint, cautiously, "what happened?"  
  
"We discovered that something was going to happen in two different places at the exact same time. Something very dangerous.."  
  
* * *  
  
A month earlier.  
  
".whether we will travel together again is unknown. Our business is our own, and we must remain true to ourselves now. We will always be friends, and I'm quite sure this will not be my last entry. I just hope the readers of this paper will remain ever patient for our return. This is Zohar signing of."  
  
Zohar sat up from the chair and looked at the letter on the desk. He had been living in Glasgow city for two days now, and was very happy with the hotel accommodation that he had rented. The room wasn't too large, but was big enough for him. Long had he desired to rest in a room such as this, with wonderful red wallpaper and soft, warm beds. After all, he wasn't getting any younger, and journeying was beginning to show its signs. But he could not rest for long. Things were about to change.  
  
"Is it done?" asked Grog intently.  
  
"Yes," said Zohar, "I can't say I'm happy about lying like this."  
  
"Would you prefer mass hysteria?" asked Grog, rhetorically. "We have to take care of this quietly. You heard what that old sage said."  
  
"I know," said Zohar subdued by Grog's decisiveness, "but lies. Lies are not good for anybody. Its what we fought to destroy."  
  
"And now we must fight to protect that freedom," said Grog proudly, "it's up to us, Zohar. If we don't do this, then the life of the world is at stake. Can't you at least think of that?"  
  
"You're once again right, my friend," replied Zohar, who began to place the document into the large red envelope.  
  
"Then why are you arguing?"  
  
Zohar sealed the envelope with a wax stamp. "I just didn't want to lie. Xeno lied to me, once, and I was thrown into a completely different plane of existence."  
  
"Xeno." Grog's memory recalled the fight.  
  
"So you see, Grog, I am not fond of them."  
  
"I understand," said Grog, nodding, "I promise, I won't ask you to lie any more."  
  
"That's good," said Zohar with a smile, "I wasn't planning on letting you anyway!"  
  
The two shared a saddened laugh. They feared they might never see each other again, as the missions they were about to uptake were both highly dangerous and hugely unpredictable. According to their intelligence, they were about to face forces stronger than either had ever imagined.  
  
Zohar stood up from his chair and thrust the letter at Grog. Grog grudgingly took it and looked at the envelope. He smirked.  
  
"Your handwritings looking a bit off," he said, as Zohar picked up his staff, "you'll have to get that sorted if you wanna go to school my boy!" Grog laughed loudly to himself, but Zohar remained silent. "C'mon man, it was just a joke."  
  
Zohar looked at the ground, his heart pounding with distress. "I know my friend. I'm just.afraid. This could be the la."  
  
"HEY!" Grog interrupted, even louder than his laugh, "never say last! This is not the end! Believe me!"  
  
"I want to, my friend, I want to! But when you can do what I can do, you have.visions."  
  
"What visions?"  
  
"When Xeno was my master, before he was twisted into evil, he told me that as my power increased, so would my visions." Grog looked at him, confounded. "Everybody has dreams, and these dreams can be interpreted. But the dreams of a powerful mage are not interpreted, they are believed. We see the future!"  
  
"What? Why didn't you tell me this before?"  
  
"Because it is mage law to keep what we see to ourselves. Only in the most desperate times do we reveal our premonitions. That is why I was always confident that Dolf would be defeated. Because I knew. And I know something will happen now."  
  
"Tell me," pleaded Grog, "I must know what you see!"  
  
"I will tell you," said Zohar, "For the vision itself was not wholly clear. It came to me last night. I saw our friends weeping. I saw a warrior dressed in kingly armour wreaking havoc upon innocents. And worst of all, I saw six knights, all dressed in heavy armour, worshipping the kingly warrior. I fear that one of us will fail."  
  
"Have your visions always come true?"  
  
"Nine out of ten of the time, yes."  
  
"So you are never completely sure that they will come true?"  
  
"I suppose, but."  
  
"No buts!" Grog interrupted again, "If you're not sure, then they may not happen. I promise you now, I will not fail! Will you promise too?"  
  
"I." Zohar looked at his friend. In all the time he had known him, Grog never looked so earnest. He could not disappoint him. "I promise."  
  
Grog smiled and grabbed his sword and shield from a nearby wall. He hung his shield around his torso and placed the sword into its scabbard. With a nod, he turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Zohar became melancholic. "Farewell, my friend."  
  
* * * Before leaving the hotel, Zohar requested that the letter be sent direct to Shumeria as soon as possible by the hotel. With a bit of bartering, he eventually convinced the hotelkeeper to send, though it cost him a few gold pieces. But the money meant nothing to Zohar. It never had done. Zohar had never had any feeling or desire for material goods. He only desired peace, and was willing to give everything, even his own life, for it.  
  
When he emerged into the city, he ignored it all. The hustle and bustle of city life, the children chasing birds in the streets, the stall keepers offering their trade. He just walked past them, hood over his head, thinking. Remembering. The sage in the dojo of this town had been dying this past week and requested to see the two travellers who were staying together in the Scarlet Hotel. When asked for a better description, he said:  
  
"The men who helped put out the fire."  
  
It wasn't long before two monks arrived at the hotel, requesting the presence of Grog and Zohar. Full of wonderment, they eagerly anticipated their meeting with the old sage. They arrived at the dojo soon after they had been met. Before they saw him, one of the monks warned them to not speak in the presence of the master. When they were brought in front of the aged master, he spoke:  
  
"Long have I desired to look upon the emissaries of light. You are those of which I speak. One of you is surprised, yet the other content with this revelation. I know how you feel. I remember when an old man told my friend and me exactly what I'm about to tell you. Two thousand years ago, the holy prophet Toroah and his followers tried to create peace in the world. But before his death, he had realised that the world was not fit enough for survival. In his madness, he had six arch-mages of extreme power seal themselves in a hidden fortress. He then forged the mighty sword Vandal Heart and placed some of his life-force within it. He then scattered six relics, each representing one of the mages across the world. Shortly before his on death, he realised that the will of man wanted to survive, so he created two locks. One was placed on the southern most continent of the world, the other to the north. He granted the keys of these locks to his twin brothers, Mindar and Mistar. The placed the keys in there temples and asked what to do with them. Toroah told them that after every century that follows the day of his death, the two locks will open, unless they keys are placed inside before the moon disappears on that day. If they failed to do so, then the seven relics would awaken and take a host. Using this host body, they would travel to the fortress to awaken their true selves. Alone and leaderless, the six titans would destroy the world mindlessly, but under the control of he who wields the Vandal Heart, they would have enough power to resurrect Toroah, and begin the world anew. In just over a month, when the moon rises for the third time from now, the locks will open. You two must stop this from happening."  
  
At this he paused and revealed from a pocket in his robe two keys, one gold, one silver.  
  
"I place in your hand, mighty mage, the key of Mindar." He gave Zohar the gold key. "I place in your hand, brave knight, the key of Mistar." He gave Grog the silver key.  
  
"This is a test of all men. If you overcome this task, men shall be given another chance. If not, then he who wields the sword of Toroah must have a mighty heart indeed, for it is he that shall judge us all. Finally, I want you to take this."  
  
From the same pocket were he held the keys, he took out a roll of parchment, stained with age.  
  
"This information may prove useful when the worst comes to the worst. Please, for the sake of us all, don't fail." And he died right there in front of them. To say the least, both men were shocked in some way or another, but both were now aware of a purpose. A young monk led them out of the room and gave them the locations of the two locks.  
  
"Keeper of Mindar, you must travel north to the plain of sand. There, when the moon rises, you must hold the key aloft and await the judgement." Zohar nodded and concealed the key within his pocket.  
  
"Keeper of Mistar, you must travel south to the ice glaciers. There, when the moon rises, you must hold the key aloft and await judgement." Grog looked at Zohar. Zohar nodded. Nervously, he placed the key within the bag he carried on his shoulder.  
  
"Go now," said the monk, bowing, "the Ark of Toroah must not be allowed to rise."  
  
They left the dojo soon after. As Zohar continued through the city, he recalled some of the things Grog said shortly after.  
  
"How can the moon rise in two places on either side of the planet?"  
  
"Why didn't anybody know about this before?"  
  
"How old was that guy?"  
  
"Were are the keyholes? Will they just appear?"  
  
"What the hell is going on?"  
  
Zohar had though the questions to be irrational at the time, but as he journeyed out of the city into the wild, he found himself asking the same questions to himself. He was scared. Something he hadn't been in a very long time. But he couldn't allow himself to disbelieve his task. Whether it be true or not, he could not risk the death of innocents, and he knew Grog felt the same. All that was left was hope.  
  
* * *  
  
The moon rose in the sky, just like the monk had said. All around him, the sand raged in a violent storm, though there was not a cloud in the sky. Zohar had travelled many leagues, and, finally, he reached the continent of sand. One of the few places he didn't travel to with Grog, Zohar had only ever heard about this place in books and diaries published in Shumeria. The drawings never did it justice either. It was much more frightening then the mage ever anticipated. As the moon reached its highest point in the sky, Zohar reached into his pocket. For a minute, he thought he had lost it, and that it had fallen out of his pocket as he had travelled. He was relieved when he finally found it. With all of his might, though the task required almost none, he retrieved the key from inside his pocket and thrust it into the air. At that moment, a bolt of lightning pierced the key and ran through his body. It caused him no pain, but he could not move. The bolt ran through his blood, filling him with knowledge and memories that were not his. For the moments he stood still there, he became different people. Those who had come before him. The many travellers who had preceded him over the centuries. The control of his body was granted to another.  
  
Slowly, his body turned around. A small golden box, held in the air by an unknown force, bore the lock he sought after. After looking at it for a short time, he moved towards it. The confidence of his uncontrollable motions echoed not the danger in his mind. His hand lifted and pressed the key into the hole. His hand turned - the lock clicked.  
  
Suddenly, the key disintegrated, turning into a powder-like substance. It slipped from his hand, and landed on the ground, mingling with the golden sand. The seconds that passed as he waited for something to happen seemed like lifetimes. His heart pounded, but his stance never changed. Whoever was controlling him did not share Zohar's own despair.  
  
At last, a voice spoke form the heavens, piercing the sky with its roar.  
  
"Who comes forth to accept the fate of man?" shouted the voice. It was unrecognisable, but seemed familiar in a strange way.  
  
"I am Mindar, holy brother of Toroah and keeper of the Key of Flame," said Zohar loudly, though it wasn't his voice.  
  
The box in front of Zohar suddenly began to shake violently. Zohar watched as it jittered about in mid-air, rumbling with an unknown rage. A bead of sweat ran down Zohar's face as he anticipated the contents of the box. He could only imagine death or disease or something equally as destructive emerging from the box. But the one thing he hoped for was for Grog to be doing the exact same thing, at that exact same time.  
  
After about thirty seconds of rumbling and jerking, the box finally halted all activity. Zohar gulped. He was himself again. He was in control. Mindar had left his body.  
  
The door swung open. Zohar blinked. Nothing. The box was empty, save for some powder left by the key. Zohar wondered if this was it. He must've succeeded, or something terrible would have happened around him, he thought to himself. Then, the voice spoke again.  
  
"Failure."  
  
"You gonna buy the watch or what?" said the merchant, reddened in the face. Zohar had been holding the small, golden pocket watch in front of his eyes for ten minutes. But his mind had been elsewhere for that time. He was no longer in the desert. He had failed.  
  
"No, thank you," said Zohar placing the watch on the table in front of him.  
  
"Damn timewasters."muttered the merchant as Zohar turned and walked down the market road. He recognised the busy street, the old cobbles, and the foul smell of horse dirt. He was in Kerachi, trade town and centre of corruption.  
  
Suddenly, he remembered the parchment. Removing it from his pocket, he unravelled it in the street and scanned it quickly. Then he knew. He had to get to Kilioppi Village, and soon.  
  
* * *  
  
"Do you still have the parchment?" asked Clint.  
  
Zohar nodded and removed it from his pocket once more. Laying the aged paper on the desk, he unrolled it. On the windowsill were two large ankhs on stands. He removed them and placed one on either end of the old document, keeping it open. On it was a passage and an illustration. The language was indiscernible to Clint and Kira, so Zohar read it aloud.  
  
"The failure shall result in this: - the Vandalier shall decimate his home and awaken the titan of armour. He will sing the requiem for his life and awaken the titan of mage. He will curse those who roam the forest and awaken the titan of blade. He will open the door of hate and awaken the titan of flight. He will become one with the night and awaken the titan of shadow. He will raise the Holy Ark and awaken the titan of death. Then, Toroah will reawaken and mankind will be doomed."  
  
The illustration appeared to be a plan of Toroah's tomb, with six discs surrounding a gold coloured disc. "The six are probably the titans, while the gold one is probably Toroah," Zohar explained to Clint and Kira.  
  
"What does it mean, 'Vandalier'?" said Kira, with desperation and a tremble in her voice. "Does it mean."  
  
"Ash."  
  
"It all makes sense, now," said Clint, "Ash was born in Killiopi during the revolution. His father was killed with Arris, but he and his mother survived. He was raised in Shumeria, but this was his home."  
  
"I know," said Zohar.  
  
"You appeared in Kerachi, right?" said Kira. "Didn't you think to bring Diego? He could've helped!"  
  
"I looked for him, but the keeper in his fathers store said they were both away on business."  
  
"Damn!" said Clint. "What do the other things mean?"  
  
"I 'm not sure," replied Zohar, "but I'm sure we'll hear."  
  
The door of the room sprang open. The old priest was at the handle.  
  
"Come quickly," was his breathless greeting, "we need your help!" 


End file.
